Taupe
by rhead-a-holyc
Summary: Taupe was a colour that was easily overlooked, almost invisible, and willing to change to remain so. It was also the colour Horace related to the most, even if he wished for the attention. The colour attracted no attention, and barely any acknowledgement itself.


**Quidditch League Season 6: Caerphilly Catapults**

 **Round 6: [Beater 2] Horace Slughorn**

 **Prompts:**

 **(dialogue) "If you're going to breathe down my neck, at least have a mint."**

 **(colour) Taupe**

* * *

Taupe was a colour that was easily overlooked, almost invisible, and willing to change to remain so. It was also the colour Horace related to the most, even if he wished for the attention. The colour attracted no attention, and barely any acknowledgement itself.

Horace would have hated the colour had he not felt such a kinship with it. It was _his_ colour now. While the others could like their bright and rich colours, his plan colour felt more important than any of theirs could be.

The family house elf popped into his dungeon, startling him out of his musings and reminding him to concentrate on his potion. He hurriedly dropped the powdered bat wings into the cauldron, relaxing when the mixture didn't immediately explode.

"Your letter has arrived, Master Horace." The house elf bowed, handing the thick parchment over and disappearing with a pop.

He stared at the parchment for several long moments. Horace didn't know if he wanted the answer; he didn't know if he would prefer to be accepted or rejected. Being accepted meant that his parents may acknowledge him for the first time since he could remember. Rejection meant that he could find something that _he_ actually enjoyed, instead of the expected skill that was considered 'inherited' despite how much effort he had to put in.

Steeling himself to read the results of his Apprentice application, he was vaguely surprised at the disappointment that welled in him at his acceptance.

He would be brewing potions for the rest of his life.

...oOo...

"If you're going to breathe down my neck, at least have a mint."

Horace watched from several feet away as the Potions Mistress he was apprenticing under offered her other apprentice a playful smirk, and the two burst into silent laughter. He made sure to keep his eyes firmly on the potion that was being brewed. This time, he would get Madam Greengrass to notice him – his potion would be better than Alexander's, and Madam Greengrass would acknowledge _him_ instead of Alexander.

He noted the time, the colour, and the consistency of the potion. He jotted down the ingredients and the precise number of stirs required. He scribbled down the points where Madam Greengrass looked thoughtful, knowing there were possible variances at those points so he could try different ingredients or stirring directions when he tried it in his own Potion's lab.

Felix Felicis was a difficult potion to brew. Horace knew, because he'd tried it while he had been at Hogwarts. Several times, if he were to be honest, but he had never managed to brew it to the ideal golden colour despite coming close several times.

He wondered if he would have been accepted for this Mastery had he drank some of the potion before he applied. Horace would like to think he wouldn't, but he also knew better than to lament his fate – there was nothing he could change now.

"Are you daydreaming again, Horace? I don't know how you expect to be a Potions Master with such a short attention span," Madam Greengrass muttered. "No matter. Pack your things up. We're done for the day or I would have assigned you an extra assignment for your lack of attention."

Horace gritted his teeth. He didn't think he had lost concentration for more than a few minutes. The colour of the Felix Felicis brew hadn't changed a shade. He cleared his expression. There was only a year left for the Mastery. He had one more year to prove himself to Madame Greengrass, and he was going to do exactly that.

Packing quickly and slipping into the green flames of the Floo network was automatic, as was the cleaning charm he cast on his surroundings as he stepped out of the fireplace. He called out a greeting to the darkened staircase leading to his parents and sighed when all he got in return was an absentminded hum from his mother. Horace knew she was engrossed in another of her inventions, and at least he had gotten an acknowledgement instead of the usual silence. He didn't hear a reply from his father, so he shrugged off the silence. His father might not even be on the property.

Dumping his bag near the door of his own Potion's Lab – his parents' old one that had grown too cramped and general for the both of them – he fished out his notes and compared it to his last attempt at Felix Felicis. It had been closer than before, but anything less than perfect wasn't going to take Madame Greengrass's attention away from Alexander.

The house elf brought dinner to his lab, and Horace knew his parents were still engrossed in their potions. He cast the Stasis Charm on his latest attempt at Felix Felicis and thanked the house elf.

...oOo...

Despite his attempt otherwise, he was one of the Potions Masters whose name had been forgotten almost as soon as it had been announced. The taupe-coloured potion he had created was nothing more than a simple Locking Potion that accomplished the same thing as a simple locking charm.

Presenting it to a panel of magic-wielding witches and wizards did not garner the same reaction as it would have, had his audience been Squibs. The potion was successful at its job, which was all that was needed to gain the Mastery. Horace knew his precious potion would be shelved, never to see the light of day again.

Hogwarts was a chance for him to be the centre of attention. It was his only chance of holding the attention of generations of students – and be remembered by just as many. The bright faces of the first years whose eyes clung to his every move, and the exhausted eyes of the seventh years who still paid him as much attention as they could, they would all remember him purely because of the number of years he would teach them for.

Not because of his personality, but because their futures depended on it.

Horace supposed that was good enough.

* * *

 **Hogwarts: Ancient Runes – Demiguise: Write about someone who feels invisible**


End file.
